


nostalgics

by obliviates



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, i dont know what im doing ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8962135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obliviates/pseuds/obliviates
Summary: "It was near three am when he stirred in the bed he’d been sharing with his lover for the mission that took them down to around Route 66, right around Albuquerque. Maybe it was Jesse’s fault that they’d ended up there. Maybe he made a reason, pointed out something had to be done or some threat that had to be neutralized, and he was the one insisting he went. No one thought anything of it."Through a series of memories that Jesse tells Hanzo, he finally begins to realize just the woman McCree's mother was.





	

**Author's Note:**

> as a warning, there is character death in this, but one that is not a main character.

_ The weather was hot that summer, particularly so in one week of July where the tap ran the brown water, signaling the dryness of their rusted well. The heat hit them hard, making him sweat harder than he had in a longer time than he could remember. The animals were fine in their cool muds and their shaded pens and anything the family could afford to give them to keep them healthy; come winter they’d be getting treated and packed into the freezer for soups and stews and nice meals all year round. Jesse was used to the heat, but it still wore him down to his bone. He remembered back to the time where his mother was doing all these things, where she was out in the sun daily, where she was running around with the animals and as free as a bird. Before she had been chained down by illness; before medication ran through her veins and her aura was always tired, dead tired; before she couldn’t get up on her own but wouldn’t accept help because, “Boy, I ain’t no weak old lady.” Before she was diagnosed.  _

_ The animals stirred him from his thoughts, the chickens running to his legs and crowding around him, their night time feed time dawning. The feed had been soaking for hours, the way his mama taught him, the way she always told him it’s better, the way she told him the chickens would appreciate the little extra effort. He hosed down the pigs’ mud hole, keeping it wet enough for them to slide around in and watching as they ran through it happily, watching as they played with each other and ran through the fields. _

_ The work didn’t stop until eight pm, and when he went inside he was greeted with a smiling mom, with downturned pictures of a man he never really knew that were always around the house, the food on the table hot and looking as inviting as ever. “Aw, Mama, you didn’t have ta do this for me,” He said with a little laugh, watching her tired features as she got comfy in a seat at the table. They always ate together, and the nights where the pain wasn’t unbearable and the weakness wasn’t terrible, she made the meals. It’d been a couple months since her surgery, and her treatment was going well save for the exhaustion that never stopped.   _

_ “The fields are a tiresome work, mijo, and you must fill up to keep them from wearing you to nothing.” He remembers the meal being particularly wonderful that night. Her smile never faded, though there was a sadness about her he knew she didn’t want to address. _

* * *

 

It was near three am when he stirred in the bed he’d been sharing with his lover for the mission that took them down to around Route 66, right around Albuquerque. Maybe it was Jesse’s fault that they’d ended up there. Maybe he made a reason, pointed out something had to be done or some threat that had to be neutralized, and he was the one insisting he went. No one thought anything of it. 

He knew in the back of his head that if he’d been there, Reyes would have said something. Probably would have told him not to linger, but let him go anyway. Jesse knew that Reyes would have picked up on all of it, the moods, the distance between him and reality - anything there that was a change in him, Gabriel would have known. Of course he would have.

Didn’t take him long to shuffle out of the hotel. The mist from the morning was thick that day. It was chilly, the damp air hitting him in the worst places and he was glad he could shield himself under his serape, even though the holes in it were starting to grow. He’d have to patch it, again, he was aware of that. The morning was closing in quickly on him, and the grave at which he stood, and he was aware sometime soon those back at the hotel they’d been staying in would be alerted of his missing presence. Offhandedly, he hummed, voice coming deep from the back of his throat. It was a song that would bring back memories for his  _ Mama  _ had she been there anymore. Had that not been the one in rest he was visiting. 

His comm alerted him of an incoming call. He ignored it. Shortly, came another, and so on. He picked up after the sixth call, unexcited to have a disturbance but ready to get it out of the way. “McCree, reporting in.” His voice was raw, the sounds of the proof he’d been teary eyed for hours now. 

“You are no longer in bed. You did not answer your comm. Where are you? Are you okay.” He took a deep breath. Of course Hanzo would be the first awake, the first to notice his missing his presence. He could hear anger in his voice, slight, not enough to cover all the fear behind it. Not enough to mask the way his thoughts were racing because he wasn’t ready for something to happen to Jesse. He didn’t think he ever would be.

It took Jesse a minute or so before he could even figure out an answer. “I ain’t there right now.” As if it wasn’t obvious. As if Hanzo probably did not check all the other’s rooms, as if he had not checked the commons or the cafe right next to the hotel. As if Hanzo hadn’t figured out the obvious before even calling Jesse. “Takin’ care of something.”

“You are not trying to work out the mission on your own, are you? It would be.. Inadvisable. There are people looking for us everywhere, Jesse. You know this. You are safe, right?” A smile tugged his lips at the other’s scolding, at the other’s interrogation. It was no wonder he was with him, it was a warmth he couldn’t shake from his mind, from his body, from his soul. The dragon brought enough light with him from the fire he let out with every word, every breath, it felt Jesse would never see such a cold winter again with him around.

He didn’t answer, not that time. He only took in a breath as he sent the photograph to the other, an attachment in a text that he labeled only with, “visiting mama.” The comm went quiet from the other end, and he took a seat in front of the grave, wrapping himself further into his serape. It didn’t take long for him to hear steps approaching from beside him, but he didn’t shake as he heard the little pitter of his boyfriend’s feet. He’d know that noise anywhere. His prosthetics made a distinct sound that Jesse was sure he might be the only one who has it memorized. It puts him to sleep at night, sometimes. He figures he must have asked around for the name of the graveyard; there was only one in the town to begin with. For awhile, it’s just silence. Just the man standing next to him, the man with firey touch and the soft but commanding voice; the man who calmed storms and brought entire new ones. 

“So this is.. Your mother.” He whispers, before he bows his head, in respect. He sits, disregarding his nobility to take a seat on the grass next to his boyfriend. He’s quiet, oddly so, Hanzo notes. “You have not spoken of her. You have been keeping in a lot of hurt, I assume with this.” McCree looks up at him, before laughing a little, resting his head on the other’s shoulder.   
  
“She was.. God  _ damn  _ Hanzo, if she wasn’t an incredible woman. If she wasn’t something special in my life. I was lucky to have a woman like her to raise me, lucky to call her my mother.” He laughed a little, quietly. It was barely a laugh at all, it was barely there at all, barely a sound. Everything about them was quiet, for awhile.

* * *

 

_ The night was cold, and Jesse could hear the sound of footsteps padding around the house slowly as he pulled himself further into his blanket. He knew he should be asleep by now, but something wasn’t sitting well with him. It was nearly midnight when he went to check what was going on. His mother looked pale, eyes swollen from crying not out of sadness, but pain. He’d insisted days ago that if she was not feeling better soon, she go in and see the doctor, but she was never fond of that idea.  _

_ She believed herself to be stronger than illness, she believed herself able to surpass anything. If there was one thing Jesse McCree learned from his mother, it was that most things will pass. This time, though, he insisted she go to the doctor. _

_ He remembers having to bundle her up for the cold (everything is harder to do when your headaches are what controls so much of your actions), he remembers helping her to the car and getting her in and driving so carefully but as quickly as he could to the hospital. He remembers how scared he was the whole time, how he was afraid of anything involving whatever might be wrong, but he knew he also needed to help her get it figured out. Things could get worse. Sure, he knew on the opposite spectrum that things could easily get better - that this could be a flu and that she have just gotten a nasty bug. But in the reality of it all, he was almost sure in his heart that something was seriously wrong. _

_ It took them nearly a half hour to get in to see a doctor; emergency rooms in their area weren’t necessarily full but were almost always slow. Jesse didn’t remember a lot of the tests the did, a lot of the specifics of how they filled her with meications with all sorts of long names, didn’t remember any of the things they’d explained to her. One hand was on his mother’s, rubbing his thumb over her hand and whispering her soft sentiments, all positive and filled with hope.  _

_ It took four hours and one scan to find the group of tumors nestled in her brain. _

* * *

 

Hanzo was the first one to speak up, pulling Jesse from his thoughts and drawing his attention from any sort of negativities about the situation. He was sure that McCree felt some sadness he didn’t know how to explain, but he was ready to listen, was ready to make sure it filled itself with other emotions instead.

“It would seem as though you miss her quite a bit,” he thought out loud, eyes moving to focus on the man pressed up against his side and using him as a pillow. “... What was she like?” It was enough to get his mind flowing, enough to make tears threaten to spill over. Enough to put him on the edge, and pull him off it all at once.

“Dynamite, Hanzo. She was like dynamite. Simple and placid one moment, smiling in comfort at those around her and radiating nothing but safety. And the next, it was all over; she was sparking and lighting and a fuse that was determined to blow. She knew how to pick her fights, she knew how to win her fights. She knew how to control her temper when needed while also making sure not get too lenient, on anyone. It wasn’t just me she was like this to - she was someone who protected everyone around her - everyone she could - she was one who make sure that everything around her was the way it was meant to be. That everyone was safe and that everyone could live the way they needed to.” He paused a little, one hand moving to twist and fidget with his shirt, to keep itself busy, to do anything unrelated that would calm him down. 

“She told me, once, that you would would be here with me, you know.” And of course, Hanzo reacted how any person normally would - his head cocked and he seemed almost amused in expression when he made a questioning noise. “I remember, after Papa left, the way she told me someone would come to love me more than I could ever know. She told me I would find a special love, one I would keep close to my heart. She taught me that not being in love does not make me broken and falling in love does not make me whole, but that like her, when I found a love worth keeping, I would hold on to it.” It didn’t take long for his hand to find the other’s, thumb stroking over palm in a moment of calm that washed over like a cleansing tide. He knew, in that moment, he would be okay.

* * *

 

_ “She can hear you, Jesse. Go ahead and talk to her, she likes the familiar sound.” Though the encouragement was anything but lacking, he found himself struggling to find words to say to his mother. She was quiet, now, not the kind of quiet before a storm but the quiet  _ after  _ a storm, the quiet where you knew things would be over soon. And Jesse knew he wasn’t ready for the storm to be over. But he held his smile, and settled on the topic of how his day had been, how the farm was going. He didn’t speak of how much he missed her, of how empty the house seemed without her - only spoke of how he couldn’t wait for her to come home. He kept her fighting, made sure she wanted to come home.  _

_ “I love you, Mama,” he would say, and he said it proud, he made sure everyone knew. He was not going to be ashamed of loving someone so magnificent. Sometimes he would repeat it, but on the good days she heard it on the first account - on the good days she would smile, and she would whisper. It was hard for her to form words, hard for her to talk above a whisper - she had been caged and listening to it broke Jesse’s heart. She was so quiet the last few months, barely ever able to respond. And when he saw her that night, she was just quiet, she was mostly vacant. _

_ They hadn’t moved her from her bed that day or the previous one - she needed rest, they said. He always wondered why they needed to tell him, because he always assumed it had to be incredibly tiring. It took a lot of courage to speak that night. _

* * *

 

It was getting closer to the time of when everyone else would be contacting them - it was getting closer to when Jesse would have to get back to the work that he’d made for himself. And he was tired, but it was incomparable to the tiresome days she once had, and he felt guilty for complaining, even to himself. And he was sure the tears in his eyes would change the way he shot, but his dead eye had never failed him before. He was sure the situation would change everything, but he was no fool, he would shove it down and swallow it whole and let it eat him from inside out before he would let anyone else figure him out. Hanzo was different, of course. Hanzo was always different. 

“I had a feeling it was going to happen,” he admit, laughing as he felt his eyes water in a familiar way, felt his stomach jump into his throat and his heart sink to where his stomach was meant to be. It was normal, he thought, at that time of year. “There was a period of days where her eyes looked so pained, like she was tired in a way that sleeping would not help. Her days dragged on but she was almost never there for them, she needed a kind of rest that we were too sad to let her have yet.” Hanzo’s hand moved to Jesse’s this time, squeezing and holding and comforting gestures only acceptable from Hanzo.

* * *

 

_ He remembers clearly the day that she passed. On the vacant day with the cool air of the winter, not much snow but still chilly. He remembers the drive to the hospital she was staying in - 20 minutes away - and how she normally looked so excited to see him. But she was too tired to properly see him, though he had a feeling she knew of his presence.  _

_ Her breathing had worsened since the day before, and again she was stuck in the bed. He remembers talking to her for what felt like days, but it was just a few hours. A few, painful hours.  _

_ It was in the few painful hours that he realized he had something very important to say. “Mama,” he said, voice soft and trembling with a fear he couldn’t stop. “Can you hear me?” And she could, and she made an effort to look at him, made an effort to recognize her son speaking to her. “You know.. You’ve lived our entire life since my birth just looking out for me. You’ve always put me first.” He paused. He could feel himself tearing up, could feel himself crying and could feel the way his eyes burned, but he wouldn’t let himself look away. “Don’t you think it’s.. Okay to put yourself first this time? I’ll be okay, you know. You raised me strong. I can do this. You don’t.. Have to stay here just for me.” Another deep breath, one he couldn’t control but came in a stuttered whimper, one he tried to make inaudible. It was painfully obvious how torn up he was about the whole situation, how raw he felt and how tired he was.  _

_ “I will be okay, you already made sure of that. You have done all you can.. Do you not want some rest?” A chuckle bubbled from his lips and he moved to rest his head on his mother’s shoulder, taking her hand and squeezing it carefully - careful not to hurt her but comfort her. She could still recognize pain, through all the fog in her head. _

* * *

 

Hanzo could tell that through this story, the wound was opening again - the way he was holding himself and talking so  _ almost quietly _ , as if talking too loud would shatter something that wasn’t there. As if he was protecting something, someone, making sure no one could hear it except the two of them, in their little bubble they’d created. And it was a sad story, and Hanzo felt something in himself too, something he didn’t recognize. He’d never considered himself to be one for family - thinking back on what happened between him and his brother, along with everything that happened with his parents. And he’d always known it was important to Jesse - always known there was some sort of scars involving the situation but had never really understood any of it. Had never understood the significance or the importance it held in his life.

He knew Jesse had lost his mom at an earlier age, but he couldn’t say he understood what it felt like. Jesse looked hollow, like some part of him was missing and Hanzo knew he couldn’t just replace it - Hanzo knew there was nothing he could do to silence the pain from wounds that had been reopened, except to be there and listen to his story and let him know it was okay. His feelings, his emotions, his reactions to this - it was all okay.

* * *

 

_ It was 2 AM when he woke up from a phone call; he’d gone home around 11 and managed to get about two hours of sleep. It was just him in the house, just him and their quiet dog, Jackson. He always woke easily to the sound of phones ringing, especially since his mom had been in the hospital. It took him less than five seconds to scramble out of bed and across the floor to the phone in his bedroom.  _

_ “Jesse?” The voice was quiet, sounded sad. Sounded like something had happened, and Jesse’s heart dropped into his stomach as he replied, just a simple answer of saying it was him. “It’s your mom.” They didn’t have to say more than that, because he knew, but when they continued it was like a kick to his ribs. “She’s gone.” He thanked them anyway, and he hung up, quickly, and he went to get dressed. And the tears were coming already, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to make it to the hospital when he couldn’t even see past the liquid pooling in his eyes.  _

_ But he wiped it away, and he put on his coat and his shows and grabbed his essentials, rushing to his car. He was speeding slightly on the way there, and he was glad he didn’t get pulled over - though he was going a bit faster than he should have he was being as careful as he could. What would he have said? That his mother just died? That would have broken him further, and he needed to get to her as fast as he could. He knew he didn’t have time to think about the what ifs or anything other than the situation, and deep down he knew he wouldn’t be able to get her off his mind even if he wanted to.  _

_ He didn’t mind the chill of the air that hit him when he was moving from his car to the hospital. He didn’t mind the looks he was getting, he didn’t mind the way the nurses just sadly led him to the room where she’d been staying. He didn’t mind the nurse who was crying, who was holding her hand until he’d made it there. He’d thought about how he was glad she hadn’t been alone, how she had someone with her even though it wasn’t him. He thought about how he regret that it wasn’t him. _

* * *

 

And it was then that Hanzo stopped Jesse, not for long, but for long enough. And this time he moved, turning to slightly face Jesse, moving to pull Jesse into a hug. Moving to lean Jesse against him, to steady him. Hanzo moved as if to protect Jesse, strong arms keeping hold of him; as if he’d fly away if unprotected. As if he would disappear, as if once again, he would run off without a word. As if this time he wouldn’t come back, or wouldn’t pick up, or would never be found.

The shaking in Jesse’s voice was more than he’d ever heard before, more than he was prepared to hear. There was something about the way he was speaking, something about the way he told his story, something in the way he looked and acted that let Hanzo know everything was flooding back. And he was sure, though he could be there and comfort Jesse, that that was all that could be done. He could not take it away, and he would not take the pain away if he could; he remembered learning that the scars from losing a lost one were a testament to your love for them. He remembered that the scars were proof that you would go on, and you would heal. And sometimes it would open up and be fresh and it would cut just as deep, but in different ways. For as much as he didn’t know about losing someone from personal experience, there was a whole novel he could write of what he’d otherwise learned.

“You hold onto your regrets from this time,” he whispered, not sure if he was even saying it for the other to hear or out of pure observation.

And there was no surprise to the ease with which his partner replied, no surprise to how sure of himself he sounded when he spoke. “There is a lot to regret. I tried to take care of everything I could, but. I was just gettin’ outta bein’ a boy, y’know? Never.. Really learned the ways of takin’ care of someone that serious. All I had was Mama and me.” He was whispering when he spoke, too. But there was a difference between them; Hanzo’s quiet and resigned and Jesse’s silent and wild, unsure of everything but so sure of himself, in this situation.

And it was then he realized that he must have told this story before, to himself and to people helping him, and to anyone listening, and to anyone who cared. And he wasn’t sure when his hold on his partner had gotten so tight, when exactly he had pulled Jesse McCree into him in a way that almost had him on Hanzo’s lap, and once again, he spoke.

* * *

 

_ Of course, there were times when it had harsh effects on him. For the first few months, it was all tears - any time there was free time, when his body and mind weren’t busy, he was crying. Sometimes even when his body was busy and when he couldn’t keep his mind busy enough, there were tears. Sometimes it all came back to him at once, and sometimes it hit like a truck; sometimes it knocked the wind out of him and he had to remind himself to breathe, to keep going. _

_ And if you asked him, he could, and he would, recount all the times in which he believed he was not going to make it, or believed that something was wrong with him for still being in the mourning process. And if you asked him, he could recount all the time he thought he wasted because in comparison to others, he was taking longer.  _

_ He remembered one time in particular, though, that hit him especially hard, and it was his least favourite time because he, after that, still found himself doing it. It was a day close to the one year memorial of his mother’s death, just a few months beforehand. Close to her birthday, close to something he wasn’t prepared to face yet. Close to something that he was sure he never wanted to face again, but something he still came to celebrate nonetheless.  _

_ But that night, something was off in him. That night, his head was foggy and he felt foggy and he was tired; he’d worked all day and cleaned and done housework after getting home from work, and he was tired. And it happened at eight PM, and he remembered getting so excited when he got the news. And he got out of his bed, and he went to the place she’d always been, and he paused. At first, he wondered if she’d been in her room - a place he hadn’t gone since she passed away - but he was quick to come to his senses. Was quick to realize that his mind was playing tricks on him; was quick to work his way back to his room and shut himself away and contact someone, anyone he could. He was quick to cover it up, to put a bandage on a wound that’d do better with stitches. _

* * *

 

That was when he went quiet. Hanzo couldn’t tell if he was completely done, or if he just couldn’t bring himself to talk anymore, but he wasn’t mad about it. It put things into perspective, in a way, Hanzo thought. The way Jesse described his mother was the same as Hanzo described Jesse - wild, but tame enough to approach and grow attached to. Someone warming but with the force of a storm; someone who could start and stop situations just by walking into the room. Jesse McCree was someone the sun shone proudly on; though he didn’t have the best past he did what he could to make up for it. 

When he felt enough time had passed, and when he felt ready to speak again, he wasn’t exactly sure how to anymore. Through it all, somewhere, it was like he lost his words, like no matter what he said he couldn’t make up for what the world had already dealt Jesse. But oh, he wanted to try.

“She would have been proud of you, you know.” 

It took only this for the man to pull away from his partner, to look up at him and let his face show confusion, show disbelief. Though he was sure Hanzo wouldn’t ever purposefully lie to him, he couldn’t see the truth in what’d been said. (Clearly, that means it can’t have been true, right?) “How d’ya reckon, then?” 

“You two are alike. From every word you have spoken to me about her, you two are alike. For every time you have compared her to a storm, for every time you have spoken of her wits and her beauty, I have linked them to those in yourself and realized where you have gotten them. And, knowing your feelings on what you’ve done, she would have been proud of you for changing your ways.” He paused a little, hand moving up to run lengthy fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. “She would have loved you, she would have told you that you outshine the sun and that it’s warmth is well rivaled by you. She would have told you the things I see in you every day, she would have been happy to see you be happy. This, I believe, is what I have learned of your mother.” 

He was crying again, but there was no judgement in the way Hanzo looked at him; nothing other than pure love for a man he realized he didn’t ever want to have to be without love again. 

And Hanzo realized two things that cold morning. One: If ever there was someone who deserved to be loved in an unexplainable, raw way, a way that kept him safe and protected and remembering that there was still things out there waiting for him, it was Jesse McCree. And two: never had he ever met someone so willing to share their raw emotions with him, and never had he ever wanted to find a way in which to comfort the man who had lost some of his light that day. Never had he ever wanted to bring someone happiness more.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I apologize for the length of this, I realize if I had planned better I could have improved the story, as well as done more for it and made it longer. I am hoping that after things calm down, I will be able to write a second chapter.   
> On that note, this one is dedicated to my mother, which, after a two year battle with brain cancer passed away, near one year ago. She was someone bright and loving, a heart that had room for anyone willing to step into its shelter. She is the reason I am here today, she was the reason I continued writing as I was growing up and continued to nurture my passion for linguistics, and for that, I owe her so much. I wish I could have done better for her, I wish I could have been there for her more and reminded her more that she had so much of my love, but I know now, in my life going on, that I will honour her in what I do. And when I feel like I can’t make it, I will remember her, and how she believed in me.
> 
> Dedicated also to my uncle, who passed more recent; within this month. After moving I did not keep contact with him as much as I should have, and would have liked to (though, from what I have heard he had been very hard to talk to the past couple of years.) He was someone that whenever I could, I would spend time with; he made me laugh in ways that near no one else could. He was another caring soul, someone who I grew up to love and adore and someone who adored me, and I hope I will never forget what he has done for me and who he was to me.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
